"I feel more like I do now than I did when I first got here…"
Yeah, that's one of my stock nonsense lines, but this month it makes sense. That's because I've been hopping time zones for two weeks now and will continue to do so into April. Have recently returned from an exquisite trip to Norway where I spoke at the House of Literature in Oslo and spent quality time with some of the finest people I’ve ever met. It was too good an experience to give it short shrift, so I'll have to put off a summary until I've completed the rest of my odyssey. At the moment I’m returning from a resort called Cragun’s with some other superb friends who have come all the way from Oz (oh, don’t you just love intelligent conversation with fascinating people), and when they return to Australia in 10 days, I’ll be jumping into the car to visit more unique friends, skiing in Montana and Idaho, then on to Oregon to see my first grandson! All by way of saying that for now I’ll just give you a brief take on a poignant moment that highlights the people connections you inevitably make on a journey such as Oslo provided. So call this a writer's diary entry then, an out-take that maybe you'll recognize too, and I'll double down with it both as Sullygram and column this month. If you’d like to leave a comment, here’s the link: http://storytellersunplugged.com/thomassullivan/2011/03/16/thomas-sullivan-norway-out-takes-from-a-writer%e2%80%99s-diary-or-the-girl-on-the-mountain/
And here’s the diary entry:
…The morning after my speech in the House of Literature, publisher/host Jan Fredrik Lockert drove me to the World Ski Championships in famed Hollmenkollen and left me to ski to my heart’s content. The waving flags, cowbells and Alpine mini-horns were exciting, but the mist-shrouded Norwegian pines beckoned me up the mountain until finally I was alone – if “alone” is possible when less than a kilometer below were probably 200,000 people pouring syrupy roars over the elite skiers on the planet who swept past them in the blur of a 30 km race. It was the best of two worlds for me: contact with the grandeur of the distant fjord upon which Oslo sits while gliding in the serene stillness and solitude of nature's awesome majesty on a mountain. Towering Norway pines flanked the trail, and suddenly from over the next crest a beautiful blonde girl came walking. I squinted in the bright light of sun on snow as I skied uphill, but all I could determine was that she was perhaps still a teenager. And then as we passed I heard her whisper “hi” in a strangely terrified voice. Something inside me melted a little. By the time I glided to a stop and turned, I was 10 m above her and she was walking awkwardly – hesitating as she looked back. For some reason she was reaching out – I felt sure of this – reaching out, though not wanting to take anything for granted. Why? What had she sensed? What had I sensed? "Hi, how are you?" I said, skiing back. Either she had already pegged me for an American or her initial "hi" was actually a Norwegian greeting of "Heia," but now she responded in broken English. At first I thought that explained the slight slur in her voice. And then I saw that speech in any language would be difficult for her…because her face was half frozen by a scar that ran cheek to cheek, paralyzing a corner of her mouth and causing one eyelid to droop.
I tried not to let my expression change, and in that at least I may have been successful. She was beautiful now not just because her face had once been gorgeously symmetrical, but because the ghastly accident that had severed its muscles had not severed her spirit. How beautiful of her to reach out in her terror, her fear of rejection, her need to be accepted for simply being human despite the cruel irony life had played on her.
All the more unforgivable that in the
awkwardness of a language barrier I didn’t keep the conversation going. I tell myself it was because I was
surprised, and because I did not want to stare at her, and I was going up the
mountain and she was going down – but my God, man, why did I let myself be
surprised? I barely remember what I
said in the minute or two we spoke.
She needed that so desperately, though. How could I let awkwardness cut it
short? It seems absurd. I hate the cowardice of vanity – people
who worry about how they might look if they reach out. She had overcome her fear, shown
courage, and I had tripped over mine, a mere social fear that exposed both my
vanity and my cowardice. But that’s
what happened in that blazing minute.
A New York minute there on a mountain in Oslo, Norway. I wished her a great day and skied on,
and when I looked back from 30 m, she was stopped too, looking up at me. But it might as well have been half a
universe by then. We both turned
away. She must have felt rejected
again. And I felt hollow. Which is why I left the trail a few
minutes later and skied off between the trees. Sometimes when you fail, you don't feel
fit to be among your own kind, and I don't think I could've handled meeting
anyone else right then. Despite her
youth and disfigurement, she had so much more courage than I did. Being alone is wonderful, but not all
the time. You'd think I'd know
that. So, I missed another cue –
the angel unaware thing – and I need to work on that. Funny how you can go halfway around the
world and find the same object lessons that exist in your own backyard. I did look for her when I came back
down, but that was a pathetic gesture, given that there were 200,000
people... Wherever she went, I hope
she found someone to talk to.
There's nothing worse than being alone in a
crowd.
The photos
below include one of a gate to a garden in Norway that reminds me of Noerenberg
Gardens here in Minnesota, followed
by a Norwegian forest view, an overlook of Oslo and a fjord from one of the
hotels I stayed at (where all the skiers stayed), a shot of a corner of that
hotel, a photo of some ski trail cabins, and another ski trail photo. Doc Foto is up to his usual mischief
this month, but it’s a funny video.
That’s him with the mustache, I’m wearing the shades, and all I know
about the other guy is he thinks there are 57 states. http://sendables.jibjab.com/view/1x6WJmstjMaANoIyGIk5
And I’m off for a ski/snowshoe
holiday in the Brainerd-Crosslake area.
Thanks for being you!
Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
www.thomassullivanauthor.com
http://twitter.com/thomassullivan
http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1219261326
